One Brave Indian

Clarissa and Clayton are here to spend a few days. When my own children were small I never thought that stepping on small toys with bare feet was much fun. Neither was cleaning spaghetti off the floor, or crying babies, or water on the bathroom floor. Somewhere through the years those things became a pleasure.

About a year ago Clarissa was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. She was only three years old, and I wondered how in the world they would ever help her adjust to that. She has at least five shots a day and has to have her blood sugar tested through a finger "stick" at least that many times as well. What a little trooper. When you say, "Clarissa, it's time to check your blood," she comes running with her figure already held up. In fact, if you happen to say, "Clarissa, come here," she dutifully brings you her finger, when all you wanted to do is brush her hair. She hardly even flinches when you give her shots, never asks for treats or snacks, and allows you to go in during the night and poke her fingers without even stirring. At this point she is so young she may think that this is all just a part of life. She looks at her younger brother and asks, "When is Clayton going to get diabetes?" I worry about the difficult teenage years ahead when she will not want to be compliant, different from her friends, or denied the foods and snacks that everyone else is eating. She is being considered for a pump before she starts kindergarten next fall. That wouldn't change what she can or can not eat, nor would it change the amount of insulin she has to have, but it would make it easier for other people to learn to care for her, and the pump can be inserted with a needle that can stay in the same location for three days, That would significantly reduce the number of times she has to be poked.

How I wish that I could finish my life with diabetes in her behalf. It's given me some new thoughts about the atonement.